Hot Ice

pack—and the envelope—sat at his feet. While she kept her eyes on his face for any signs of wakefulness, she leaned over. The pack was well out of reach. The jeep jostled as she rose up enough to bend over the seat from the waist. Doug continued to snore lightly. Her fingers gripped the strap of the pack. Gingerly, she began to lift it up.
    There was a bang loud enough to make her gasp. Before she had time to fumble for a good hold, the jeep veered, sending her tumbling into the back.
    Doug woke up with the air knocked out of him and Whitney sprawled over his chest. She smelled of wine and fruit. Yawning, he ran a hand down her hip. “Just can’t keep your hands off me.”
    Blowing the hair out of her eyes she scowled at him. “I was watching the sunset out the back.”
    “Uh-huh.” His hand closed over hers, still on the strap of his pack. “Sticky fingers, Whitney.” He clucked his tongue. “I’m disappointed.”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” With a huff, she struggled up and called to Pierre. Though the spate of French went over his head, Doug needed no translation when the native kicked the front right tire.
    “A flat. Figures.” Doug started to climb out, then glanced over his shoulder, located his pack, and took it with him. Whitney reached for her own before she followed him. “What’re you going to do?” Doug asked.
    She glanced at the spare Pierre rolled out. “Just stand here and look helpless, of course. Unless you’d like me to phone Triple A.”
    Swearing, Doug crouched down and began to loosen lug nuts. “The spare’s bald as a baby’s ass. Tell our chauffeur that we’ll walk from here. He’ll be lucky if this gets him back to the village.”
    Fifteen minutes later, they stood in the middle of the road and watched the jeep bounce over ruts. Cheerful, Whitney linked her arm with Doug’s. Insects and small birds had begun to sing as the first stars came out. “A little evening stroll, darling?”
    “As much as I hate to turn you down, we find cover and camp. In another hour, it’ll be too dark to see. Over there,” he decided, pointing to a jumble of rocks. “We’ll pitch the tent behind them. We can’t do anything about them spotting us from the air, but we’ll be out of sight from the road.”
    “So, you think they’ll be back.”
    “They’ll be back. All we have to do is not be there.”
    Because she had begun to wonder if there were trees in any quantity in Madagascar, Whitney was pleased when they came to the forest. It helped ease the annoyance of being awakened at dawn. The only courtesy he’d given her had been a cup of coffee shoved in her face.
    The hills going east were steep, peaking up and dropping down so that walking had become a chore she was ready to swear off for good.
    Doug looked at the forest as welcome cover. Whitney looked at it as a welcome change.
    Though the air was mild, after an hour of climbing, she was sticky and out of sorts. There were better ways to hunt for treasure, she was certain. An air-conditioned car would be the first choice.
    The forest might not have been air-conditioned, but it was cool. Whitney stepped in among fanning fern trees. “Very pretty,” she decided, looking up and up.
    “Travelers’ trees.” He broke off a leaf stalk and poured clear water into his palm from the sheath. “Handy. Read the guidebook.”
    Whitney poked her finger into the puddle in his hand, then laid it on her tongue. “But it’s so good for your ego to spout off knowledge.” At a rustle, she glanced over and saw a furry white shape and long tail disappear into the brush. “Why, it’s a dog.”
    “Uh-uh.” Doug grabbed her arm before she could race after it. “A sifaka—you’ve just seen your first lemur. Look.”
    As she followed his pointing finger, Whitney caught a glimpse of the snow-white-bodied, black-headed lemur as it dashed through the top of the trees. She laughed and strained for another look. “They’re so cute. I was beginning to think we’d see nothing but hills and grass and rock.”
    He liked the way she laughed. Maybe just a bit too much. Women, he thought. It had been too damn long since he’d had one. “This ain’t no guided tour,” he said briefly. “Once we have the treasure, you can book one. Right now, we’ve got to move.”
    “What’s the hurry?” Shifting her pack, Whitney trooped along beside him. “It seems to me the longer we take, the less chance Dimitri has to find